


Space (was just a word made up by someone who's afraid to get too close)

by tony_sassypants_stark



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Military, Anchor Scott McCall, Anchor Stiles Stilinski, Anchors, College Student Scott, Eventual Injury, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, M/M, Marine Stiles, Military, Military Stiles, Scott McCall is Stiles Stilinski's Anchor, Sniper Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is Scott McCall's Anchor, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tony_sassypants_stark/pseuds/tony_sassypants_stark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles leaves Beacon Hills in an attempt at a normal life- as normal as a Marine scout sniper can get. But when he returns for a visit, he discovers that some feelings have changed between himself and his best friend as they kept in touch through letters. <br/>(Scott's POV for the first chapter, there-on it's Stiles')</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Reunion 4 Years in The Making

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a prompt for my [Stiles Based Oneshots](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6324943/chapters/14724412) but I liked it so much that I decided to make it a Multi Chapter story of it's own.   
> Just so much you could do with an AU like this amiright.
> 
> But, most importantly this was a prompot given to me by this amazing person [10millionfireflies](http://archiveofourown.org/users/10millionfireflies/pseuds/10millionfireflies) so you guys should all thank the crap out them for this.

Scott remembers vividly, like it had happened just yesterday. The moment Stiles came to the decision to separate himself from the supernatural chaos that was Beacon Hills, it had been building over time and he knew that- expected it even. Stiles was an incredibly strong person, passionate and selfless...but that didn't make what happened to him over the course of their early High School years just, well, disappear. It didn't change the fact that he had lost people who he'd grown to care deeply for; Allison, Erica, Boyd. Hell even Aiden had earned his care. And they had all died, all from supernatural causes.

They'd been sitting at Scott's kitchen table with their homework spread out in front of them, desperate to get caught up like they usually ended up doing after neutralizing another one of Beacon Hills' supernatural baddies. But some thing felt off, had since the beginning of the school day, and Stiles reeked of guilt and something else that Scott had been unfamiliar with. Turned out to be Stiles' particular brand of defeat, as he'd discovered when his best friend suddenly dropped his highlighter and ran a hand over his face. And then he'd taken Scott into a tight, almost desperate hug and told him that he loved him- he cared _so much_ and that would never change. Not even if there was an entire world between them. That freaked him out.

With good reason too, seeing as he'd shown up to school the next day with his signature buzz cut making a comeback, and had responded to Lydia's questioning with a casual, "I'll have to buzz it for bootcamp anyway." as if it was something she should have known. To say the least, half of the senior class ended up flipping out, including Coach- "What- Stilinski! I will _not_ let you give your position to Greenburg!" because well, Stiles may not have been the most popular person ever but he did have thing he did where he loved and accepted unconditionally- and yes, even high school nitwits could pick up on that. And oddly enough, the pack makes it through most of the day without losing their shit. He's proud of them, proud of himself really, because this is their pack member. _Their human_ that was apparently ready to hightail it out of BH and straight into the big bad world without them. But first and foremost it was Stiles willingly leaving him behind. Even after all they had been through together, all of the times they had only survived because they had each other's back. It's that thought that ultimately breaks Scott though, when everyone is gearing up for lacrosse practice. It causes the stupidest, _cheesiest_ group hug complete with a few tears nobody would be caught dead shedding afterward.

What was he supposed to do without his best friend, his partner in crime? He'd already lost friends to untimely deaths, and watching Stiles head off to bootcamp for the fucking _Marines?_ It felt like he might as well have been signing his death certificate. He watched the news, knew what was going on, and knew he couldn't do anything to protect one of the single most important people in his life. Marines were the first to head into the fray, tended to have the more dangerous front-lines jobs. Why Stiles felt pulled toward that particular branch is mind boggling to Scott until the Sheriff sits him down, house quiet after Stiles had actually _left_ and tells him that Stiles may not have claws or "glowy eyes" but he was just as entitled to protecting something important to him. Scott gets that.

To say the least it wrecked him for months. But promises of letters and the occasional skype had set him back up on his feet, gave him something to look forward too when he's left staring at Stiles' empty desk at school, graduating without the one person who had made such a huge deal about the pack sticking together...looking at Roscoe left parked in the Stilinski's driveway untouched for months. He even started college, they all do, and are constantly reminded that there is a piece of them missing. Even with the letters- he has yet to actually be able to sit down and Skype anyone- they feel like there is a gaping black hole where Stiles should have been. 

But the letters. They start off a little awkward, a new form of communication between them that was never really exercised seeing as they could just, you know _talk_. But from the first to the second and onwards they steadily grow more comfortable, start to hold that stupid sense of humor that was pure Stiles' and it makes Scott happier than he ever thought he would be from looking at a piece of friggin' paper. It has him running to campus post after every single class to check if he'd gotten any mail, had him logged onto skype 24/7 just in case.

It becomes the highlight of his week, sitting down and being able to read the dumb jokes Stiles tosses into his letters about how goddamn hot it is- _and you thought Cali was hot? Pfft, dude. Common this place is hot as hell. Literally._ He can appreciate that Stiles still likes to complain and vent to him, still has him laughing and rolling his eyes, still sounds just like he did the day he left. In fact he finds himself craving it, even starts to read back through the letters when he starts getting frustrated with the sheer amount of work he has due. And it's his sophomore year of college when he realizes it.

Full moons he turns out to be hella pissed off? Letters.  
Angry when Liam drinks all his beer without asking? Letters.  
Misses his mom? _ssh don't judge him_ Letters.  
When his Dad kind of manages to screw up again? Le.tter.s

They become his go-to for any and all things concerning emotional relief, especially the times he is- surprise, surprise- missing Stiles like nobodies business. And it becomes so excessive that people actually start asking him if his girlfriend _"or boyfriend, no judging here man!"_ was studying abroad, must have been the dumb grin on his face every other week when he's got a thick, tattered envelope in his hand. The strange thing about it is that Scott doesn't really feel weird about it. Eventually just kind of shrugs it off, doesn't say yes or no because why should he have to put a label on what he has with Stiles- and just like that, in his third year, he feels the tight pull in his chest at actually sitting down and thinking about what they are after nearly four years of being separated. Friends feels too loose of a term. Brothers- forget that, it makes Scott feel infinitely uncomfortable when his heart flutters at the quick chicken scratch of, "Love you Scotty, miss you so so much bro" at the end of Stiles' letters. It leaves him somewhere between best friends and something more. He didn't have to label it, but he probably should start thinking about doing it because Winter break is quickly approaching and the Sheriff had nearly had a conniption at the little ps at the end of his letter that informed him Stiles could finally come home for a visit! _prepare the hot chocolate and curly fried dad, i'm dying out here._

And it makes him feel like shit, really it does, because he's allowed to feel bad for himself and he's just fallen for a man halfway across the world who puts his life in danger _daily_. Somewhere in the back of his mind is a tiny little whisper, his voice of reason, telling him that Stiles would have been in worse mental and physical shape if he had stayed in Beacon Hills. The pack still had things to deal with, albeit they have improved on a few very key aspects. But in the long run Scott knows that isn't why Stiles left; he may be oblivious at the best of times but he knew Stiles better than the back of his own hand. He had seen the changes, good and bad, and the literal collapse of Stiles innocence after the nogitsune. He came to realize that he no longer held any ill feelings toward Stiles for leaving him because ultimately he'd needed it. He may have been fantastic at adapting but something's, nearly losing his Father or being the inadvertent cause of another person's death, it wasn't enough to be able to change on the turn of a dime. Stiles was human, he couldn't hold the world on his shoulders and he certainly shouldn't have had to hold all of the burden by himself.

But that's kind of why Scott had started to see his best friend in a different light. That characteristic of needing to take away all of the pain, all of the hurt and the danger even if it meant diverting it straight to himself. It had been something Scott envied, occasionally hated, but as he got older? As he truly understood what it meant to love someone so much that you wouldn't even think twice before taking a bullet for them...it _did things_ to him that made him breathless and looking up how much it would cost to buy a plane ticket out to the middle east at three in the morning. God he just wanted to smother Stiles in a hug and never let go because he appreciated that stupid man more than anything he'd ever been given, more than anyone in his life although his Mother was understandably debateable.

Either way, best friend or more ( _he's leaning towards being more at that point_ ), he's left standing with a small group of people at the airport at ten o'clock at night, wondering how in the hell the semester had managed to go by so fast. The letters had come just as normally as they always had, classes had been just as long and boring and he'd been miserably pining over Stiles. Why did time move so much faster than his life?

Nearly the entire pack is there, greetings already long since shared, loitering around the arrivals gate much like Scott himself. It's the most unnerving thing in the world to be standing there in a group of supernatural creatures, knowing nearly everyone can pick up on how hard his heart is beating- can probably smell the bomb of chemosignals he's giving off, and it makes him grateful to the point of being weak in the knees that Stiles can't do that. He did not need a confrontation in the middle of an airport about why his heart is beating so hard he should technically be going into cardiac arrest. And knowing Stiles he would totally do it there and then, acting on impulse and curiosity as he always had. Part of Scott wishes that would actually happen, having that sort of normality between them again. It's very small though, that part of him, _very small_.  
The bigger part is at the forefront of his mind, and it's busy telling the rest of his body to short circuit.

It continues to practically give him a conniption for ten more minutes before the first few people start to make their way through the gates, most of the looking exhausted or very much plane sick. None of them are Stiles though, and it confuses him because active duty are usually allowed to unboard first...? Or is it the other way around.  
He's standing there thinking with eyebrows furrowed and head tilted when there's a sudden _very loud_ screeching noise off to his right, followed by a cacophony of what he can only describe as chaotic excitement. He swears his entire nervous system shuts down the second he looks up because holy shit Stiles- yeah, that's definitely Stiles and he looks....like he's not going to move a single inch when Lydia crashes into him for a very tearful hug. "Jesus Christ way to pop my eardrums. It's great to see you too." He's laughing, patting Lydia's back so gently it looks like he's trying not to break her. With the way his frigging shirt looks like it could burst at the seams, Scott thinks that may very well be exactly what he's doing. He's tanner than Scott has ever seen him, a little taller and a lot broader- Jesus Christ this was not the same lanky, awkward Stiles that had left Beacon Hills all those years ago. Standing there going through rounds of hugs and rough shoulder patting is a _man_ and it most definitely, one hundred and ninety nine percent has Scott's mouth bone dry in seconds. 

He's kind of kicked back into reality when he picks up on the sudden silence. Everyone is looking between the two of them like they were doing something wrong, Scott standing there like a deer caught in headlights and Stiles looking at him from over his Father's shoulder. They'd collided in an embrace that had a few cheeks wet. Melissa was no exception.  
Scott was though, he didn't even remember how to breath let alone _bring a chick flick to life._

 **He takes it back, oh God he takes it back. This is a scene right out of The friggin' Notebook.** He feels like he could start hyperventilating, like his heart will come to a screeching halt in his chest because it's been four years. Four years of missing this guy, of writing him letters every single week and now he....he really loves him. And he's standing right there, in front of him looking like he'd been given some kind of super soldier serum. In the back of his mind he pats himself on the back for making a Marvel reference that Stiles would be proud of. But this? The way Stiles is stepping away from his Father, dropping his Military duffle bag and pulling Scott into a hug that could only be described as fierce; hand at the back of his neck and face planted into his shoulder- it feels like it belongs in a movie, not in an airport in California. "Love you Scotty. I missed you so much." 

This is stupid, he thinks, the way his entire body just _sags_ into the hug without him actually meaning too. He wants to hug the life out of Stiles, wants to remember how it feels and God how much it's changed since that last hug before he was off to bootcamp. It's like hugging the same person in a different body; the muscle mass is new hell even the way he smells is new, kind of like gunpowder and a spiced soap, but that warmth the exudes from Stiles is still there. That vibe of 'need to protect' and 'you mean everything' that had become infinitely stronger since the night Scott had been bitten. It's the strangest combination of familiar and alien, not that Scott's about to complain, wouldn't in a million years, but it's something he thinks he could get used to. 

He'd had this before though, four years ago when the two of them were still figuring out life and themselves. And he had taken such advantage of it, never truly appreciated that he could, at any given time, call up his best friend and talk at ungodly hours of the morning or indulge in hugs whenever the urge struck. It makes him feel guilty on top of the mess of emotions he'd been steadily going through since waking up that morning. They're not the best mixture ever, to say the least, but he isn't about to let that get in the way of a reunion four years in the making. No way in _hell_ not when he's spent all that time half a world away- and now he's got hardly a freaking centimeter between them.

He's going to milk the everliving fuck out of this.

Which he does. No shame. None at all.  
From sneaking into Stiles' bedroom nearly every single night under the pretext of wanting to get caught up on things and ultimately ending up crashing on various pieces of furniture to stealing him away to spend his entire pay check on him for the day. It didn't change the stupid feeling in his stomach, like he couldn't put his finger on what Stiles was for him now, but it did change a few aspects. In the sense that they had always been close, it was taken to a whole new level; holding hands, near constant hugging, cheek kissing...like they couldn't keep their hands off of each other. In a non-sexual way of course, seeing as they were in public places most of the first few days.  
Plus Scott has the sneaking suspicion that Stiles just missed him, nothing romantic or otherwise, and was ecstatic to be back within arms reach of him. That didn't make things easier to accept though, just made it hurt a tiny bit less. Like the thought scooped a bit out of the romance and dumped it into the friendship part of his heart.  
Not a bad thing, but not exactly what he was hoping for.


	2. A Trip to The Preserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make their way down to the preserves lake for a swim- and stiles may or may not want to be wearing ugly christmas sweaters for the rest of his life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See this as part one of this update. For some reason AO3 doesn't want to post the entire thing as one chapter (lmao it really is extensively long though so I kinda get it) so part two will be up within the day!  
> The oven is calling my name, honey glazed chicken needs to be made (sadly, by me ugh) so enjoy!

Sleeping in your childhood bed after spending multiple months sleeping on a military grade cot is like heaven. Stiles gets to wake up to the sound of birds chirping and his Father rummaging around in the kitchen; two very familiar noises that he hadn't realized he missed hearing, not until he was deprived of them for longer than he would have liked. There isn't sand in places it shouldn't be, there's a nice breeze coming in through his bedroom window and the sound of gunfire is replaced with the mundane day-to-day sounds of a bustling neighborhood. It is, altogether, peaceful and uneventful. Had been since the day he got back.  
This life, he sleepily noted with a wide yawn and stretch, was one he wasn't so sure he could settle back into. He'd grown so painfully accustomed to life on the go, constantly on his toes and always- always watching.   
He found it difficult to fall asleep without the background noise of some random televised action movie droning on from his laptop.  
He found it difficult to stay asleep once he'd managed to drift off. He didn't have to be prepared at the drop of a hat to be on duty.  
And now, sitting on the edge of his bed with his hands rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he found it difficult to process the fact that he didn't have his rifle laying by the door just waiting to be picked up and cleaned.

That's not to say he doesn't do just that anyway, the second he's awake enough to realize he can choose what to do with his time.  
He's got his rifle unassembled and spread out on the kitchen table with a cup of straight black coffee and the itch to light a cigarette before his dad even has the chance to say good morning. His fingers move on auto pilot and the smell of black powder cleaning gel is something he's grown used to- his father scowls at the potency of it but doesn't complain as he flips pancakes on the skillet. It's become part of their new daily routine, of sorts.

There's some pleasantly simple chatting between the two of them, it comes easy and Stiles finds himself smiling more than half the time it takes for them to fall into their old routine of playful banter. He's halfway through checking his sights, scope aimed through the window in the living room when a sly grin forms at the sudden reminder he'd sworn to give himself after constantly forgetting to bring up the debacle of one Melissa McCall.  
She'd been cooking them dinner since he'd gotten back, be it in her own kitchen or in his father's.  
"Sooooo, seeing anybody?" It's not a question, really. Stiles saw the way his father was looking at Melissa when they'd met him at the airport, the way she watched him when he was doing dishes, the way they acted like lovesick teenagers when they thought Stiles and Scott weren't paying particularly close attention.  
They were worse than Scott and Allison way back in the day, all googly eyes and blushing cheeks.  
It was kinda gross, kinda perfect and makes his father sigh like he's suffered millions of Stiles' statements. He kind of has.  
"Yes, Stiles. I am seeing someone- and no you are not touching my pancakes with oily fingers go wash your hands." The way Noah says that while pointing a batter covered spatula at him is extremely reminiscent of Melissa McCall berating him and Scott for sneaking bites of food before the meal was even finished.  
He can't help but smile, hands raised in surrender as he turns from the table to do as he was told. The kitchen sink is empty of dishes, and a pair of dish washing gloves sit by it's side, pink in color and petite in size.  
It's the hardest thing he's ever done, to hold back the incessant need to poke fun at his father for having a girlfriend.

His rifle is not welcome at the breakfast table, just the same as it has been every other morning, and he's forced to set her down in the living room, looking spick and span as the day he'd been given her- and told that this rifle was now his life. He thinks, vaguely, that if his father had been told the same thing about the couch then he would be having a conniption at the small smudge of cleaner Stiles accidentally put there.  
He's in the middle of retelling his entire past to his father when the all too familiar sound of a dirt bike pulling into the driveway has him pausing and nearly kicking his chair over in the rush to get to the front door before Scott can beat him there.  
"Stiles, my floor-!"   
He wins, not by much but enough to yank the door open just as Scott comes barreling up the front porch steps.  
He looks like an overactive dog, hair pressed down to his skull from his helmet and eyes wide with that familiar sparkle of life and excitement and love.  
"HEY BUDDY!"  
It's almost like they hadn't just seen each other the previous night, the way they hug it out on the porch, slapping each other's backs and grinning like idiots for the next five minutes. He can hear his father grumbling about scuff marks and cold food and while it doesn't proceed his thoughts, it seems to proceed Scott's.  
"Hey man- is that pancakes I smell?"  
The crooked, innocent little grin Scott gives him nearly has him tripping over his feet in his haste to get back to his forgotten food, ready to give him the rest of what he hadn't managed to scarf down before his arrival.  
He'd give this guy the world if he looked at him like that again, pancakes are nothing.

Scott looks at him like that again not ten minutes later, mouth stuffed with syrup drenched pancake.  
"So, I was thinking we could go hang out down at the preserve? Derek and Cora have been trying to get us all down there to go swimming for like....ever."  
The mention of Derek and Cora has Stiles pausing mid-bite, eyes snapping up because since when were they back? But the second he sees those damned eyes he's drawn in and can't say anything but yes.  
"Uh yeah. Yeah that would be great." It's an awkward sort of silence that settles between the three of them for the next fifteen minutes before the Sheriff slaps down his morning paper and scoops up his coffee and keys as he heads out the door. The two of them have their mouths stuffed, looking every bit the mischievous teenagers they had been not four years ago.  
"I better not get any calls pertaining to you two. Stay out of trouble," At this he turns to face Stiles with a pointed finger and equally pointed look. "I mean it. I'm not going to cover for you this time." Stiles believes him, gives a flippant salute and shoo motion to get a move on before he's late for work.  
And then he's out the door and pulling out of the driveway, leaving Scott and Stiles to abruptly end their breakfast with full bellies and content smiles.  
"I'm gonna go grab a towel and change, be right back." He's halfway up the stairs to his bedroom when he realizes there will be a shitload of sand.  
Damn it, he whines mentally, I hate sand.  
But Scott is standing in the doorway to the front yard looking like he couldn't think of anything else he would rather do so Stiles, for the life of him, tries his hardest not to complain about the thought of being around the only thing he was surrounded with back overseas.

 

They make it to the preserve in record time thanks to Stiles insisting they take Roscoe, duct tape in hand and wrench gathering dust in the glove compartment.  
It brings back all sorts of memories; not all bad, not all good. Either way he's got Scott sat in his passenger seat singing and playing air drums to the radio on full blast, looking like he belonged there, and it has Stiles glancing over at him at every red light they happen upon.  
He doesn't remember Scott looking so grown up. His face is sharp with angles and his eyes have a depth to them that was new but not bad. He still had that charming crookedness to his jaw and his cheeks still looked like they could swallow his eyes if he smiled wide enough, but he was starting to resemble his father in the most interesting ways.  
As he turned down the dirt road of the preserve he couldn't help but to ponder on his own physicality. Did he look like that too? To Scott? Was he grown up, was he the same old Stiles he went to school with?  
Maybe he was, but by the way Lydia had practically felt him up back at the airport told him a different story.  
He's brought out of his thoughts by Scott looking over at him with wide, questioning eyes and a curious, "When was the last time you went swimming anyway?"  
He blanches at the question because, "Uh, holy shit I don't remember. Perks of being stationed in a desert, man." and feels the sudden boost in excitement practically rolling off of Scott as they pull up beside an all too familiar camaro, a pair of flip flop clad feet dangling out the back window.  
It's Cora, snoozing in the backseat as her brother empties what little they had brought from the boot of his car, looking for all intent and purpose like the sour wolf Stiles had used to see him as. Scott's out of the jeep and jabbering at Derek about some baddie or other, towel tucked under his arm and sunglasses precariously hanging onto his face by the tip of his nose. Derek continues to be quiet and huffy, seemingly unaware that Stiles is even there.

"Dude, lighten up." Is all it takes for Derek to promptly whack his head on the car frame with a jolt of surprise (since when can you sneak up on a werewolf for fucks sake Derek get your head out of your ass.) and Cora to scramble with all the grace of a baby giraffe to get out of the car and ram into Stiles with a slightly awkward embrace.  
Derek may or may not flick his sister in the back of the head for endangering his precious car and Cora definitely gives him the-mom-look, Stiles isn't one to judge, and then he's got an armful- literally- of Marine enhanced Stiles Stilinski.  
Stiles, for all the lanky awkward he used to be, isn't even remotely similar to the person Derek had said goodbye to in Mexico and proceeds to voice it while squeezing the biceps he had never thought would develop.  
"Jesus, you could almost match me for lifting." Scott snuffs out a burst of laughter at the uncertainty in the older man's voice and Stiles has to admit that he laughed as well.  
It was an odd happening, that Derek Hale looked like he was almost threatened by not just a human being but Stiles Stilinski.  
It boosted the hell out of his ego, sure, but knowing Derek the way he did made it easy to shrug it off and let him have his pride.  
"Nah, not there yet. I'm not exactly a supernatural creature. I don't have the furry abilities." He wants to say it with pride but he can't. The subject of supernatural anything has been strictly off limits with him, Lydia avoided it and Scott avoided it- hell, even Liam and Hayden had acted like they were walking on eggshells around him.  
He wouldn't break though. He wasn't as fragile as they seemed to perceive him to be.  
Well. Everyone but Cora, who slapped him on the shoulder and promptly rubbed all of her abilities in hi face like a five year old trying to show off a new toy, dragging him down to the lake with a flourish of hand movements and bellows for Lydia to get her cute little ass over to the picnic tables.

 

Cora, for all the lack of subtility she possessed, made no effort to hide the fascination with this new being. She clung to Stiles like a leech, not that it was annoying, but it was nice when she detached so he could guzzle down a gallon of lemonade after spending far too much time sprawled on the ground with her, Malia, and Mason asking about his 'adventures' in the Military. Scott had heard them all, in the privacy of Stiles room at ungodly hours of the night with nacho's and twizzlers shared between the two of them. He was uninterested, splashing around in the water with Liam and Derek in what Stiles could only describe as werewolf rough housing. Or wrestling. Either way he didn't join in because he would like to live, thank you very much.  
Instead he dragged himself away from the bright sunlight reflecting off of the water and over to the nice, shaded area their renowned banshee had taken up for herself.  
"I forgot how hot it can get here. Lydia, save me." Was his dramatic exclamation as he rounded on said girl, sat at the bank of the lake with a book in hand. She looked just as beautiful as he remembered her being, strawberry blonde hair shining and big green eyes blinking up at him from over the rim of a pair of sunglasses. Lydia would always be beautiful in his eyes, even though she had changed so drastically since he'd fallen so hard for her. She was a woman now, an adult with more purpose than being popular and liked and pretty in others eyes. He couldn't help smiling at the fact that he was able to settle down beside her and drop his head in her lap without it being awkward, without having to constantly wonder if she liked him back or if he was upsetting her or annoying her. This was an effortless kind of friendship they had, and while he wasn't entirely sure when it became so for them he was infinitely grateful for it. It allowed him to get over her and move on, had allowed him to explore his feelings for other people and get his head out of the clouds.  
"I doubt it's hotter in Beacon Hills than in an actual desert, Stiles." Is her flippant response, flicking water at him with her free hand just to annoy him.  
It works. He wants to pick her up and dunk her in the water but the second he gets the idea he swears Cora see's his intentions and gives him a look that speaks of much pain and regret in the very near future. He's being pushed out of his spot not five seconds later by Cora's feet planted firmly on his lower back, hands shoving and pushing playfully at his shoulder until he's sent flailing into the lake- sunglasses, lemonade, t-shirt and all. When he resurfaces he can hear Lydia cackling, book forgotten beside her on the grass as she congratulates Cora on a job well done.  
"Oh come on! My lemonade..." He knows how pathetic he probably sounds but he was enjoying that drink, damn it.   
He's about to pull himself back up onto the bank so he can toss his cup back onto the picnic table and wring out his t-shirt to dry when Scott's doggy paddling by his side, looking at him with rosy cheeks and big eyes.  
"Common, we need one more for chicken and we all know Lydia will be the last to volunteer." 

Not three minutes later he's swimming out to the others, now divested of his soaked shirt and sunglasses with Scott nearly clinging onto him at the shoulders in an attempt to bum a free ride out to the deeper part of the lake.  
"So, my mom totally likes your dad. They've been on dates, man. Does this make us....like, brothers?" The tone of his best friends voice sounds almost uncertain, like he doesn't know whether or not he wants that for them. It's an odd notion that they would have the chance to be brothers but not want it- after all that was all they wanted growing up. They were Scott and Stiles, attached at the hip, never one without the other. To say the least, Stiles didn't know how to respond.  
"Uh. Well, I mean maybe?" It was a vague answer, one that he would have to think on for sure; did he want Scott as his brother? Hell yes, he could see them being brothers.   
But the fact that he could see them spending family holidays together with Melissa and Noah, could picture them being closer than just best friends ever could be....did he want them to be siblings or did he want them to be in a relationship. They were two very distinctively different things.  
"We could finally have an excuse to put an end to your mom's christmas sweaters if we were." This makes Scott snort out an amused chuckle and turn his face to smile at him, but he sees something in those eyes that he can relate to now.  
Did he want Scott to be sitting at the living room table at Christmas with a girl on his ugly christmas sweater clad arm and a smile on his face as he introduced Stiles as his brother, or did he want to be in this imaginary girls shoes. It was a confusing train of thought to say the least, and he continued to ride that damn train until his head hurt and he realized he forgot to put on more sunblock- his shoulders were starting to roast in the sun as he yanked and pulled at Liam's limbs in an attempt to knock him from Derek's shoulders with indignant squawks and yells.


End file.
